


Coq au Vin

by priceandzeller



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dissociation, Food, M/M, as a treat, i know nothing about food and this is difficult, let will graham do what he wants, will can feel happy, will graham does not know anything about food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 10:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30121158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/priceandzeller/pseuds/priceandzeller
Summary: Will Graham is loved.And Will Graham appreciates everything that Hannibal does for him. Especially his cooking.So Will tries his hand in cooking.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Coq au Vin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sleepsloopie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepsloopie/gifts).



> Please have mercy. I know nothing about food. First thing on this silly little website and a gift to the lovely @sleepsloopie :)

Seven minutes. 

Seven minutes until Hannibal would return like clockwork. If Will had gotten used to anything from his time with Hannibal, it was unwavering consistency. For another seven minutes, Will knew he had the cozy home to himself (and the dogs, of course). In a few simple minutes, the door would open and dogs would begin their collective roar. Directly thereafter, a gentle and incredibly cliche greeting would ring against the bookshelves, and keys would drop into the mahogany bowl by the door. 

Second only to waking up to gentle kisses on his forehead, Hannibal coming home was Will’s favorite experience of his day. The rush of dogs and cold Baltimore air through the home gave Will such a simple joy. He would often let his mind wander to reminisce on this time of day: Will knew that he would always have someone who came back for him, someone who cares for him. 

The thought that someone cares had finally made itself a home in Will’s head. Someone who would wake him up without alarm if he were to oversleep (an unlikely yet possible scenario for him), someone to feed the dogs while he went away, someone to hold, and someone who would always make him a meal beyond ramen. 

Will certainly had not grown up around fancy meals. Nobody ever really cooked for him when he was younger, now that he thought of it. He spent many of his teenage mealtimes in diners with greasy hamburgers and fries: now, he rarely spent a day without a meal that rich white men would get off to. He never ate balanced meals which, in theory, could be the cause for some of his issues now. If the meal didn’t come with instructions on the back or wasn’t prepared for him, Will wouldn’t have had it regularly. 

But none of that mattered anymore, because Will Graham was a loved man and he understood this. 

Culinary creations three times a day had become part of Will’s newfound routine. Yet as he stood over the stove and stirred the food he had handpicked to cook for Hannibal that night, breaking a routine had never felt better. 

Will had always believed that small actions with heavy meaning were more powerful than grand actions. Take his lures, for example. Weeks spent on one simple object that could be destroyed by one clench of the jaw of a fish lurking just beneath the surface. Nevertheless, small things with meaning guided Will. If that meant cooking (or his version of cooking) for his boyfriend, then Will would cook for his boyfriend.

Will knew for a fact Hamburger Helper was definitely below Hannibal’s standards, but it’s all he chose to work with. Obviously, this was not found in Hannibal’s pantry; Will had taken a small walk during the day to pick up something, anything with instructions. His hand had managed to settle on a meal that cost less than two dollars. It wasn’t that Will was trying to lower Hannibal’s standards, not by any means. 

But rather some twinge of nostalgia urged Will to return to a simpler time. No doubt involved, those times were much worse. He wasn’t caught up professionally or romantically with the Chesapeake Ripper back then. Simpler times where he wouldn’t see antlers rising from the corners of his eyes every time he turned. 

But reminiscing was a slippery slope for Will, as he had learned so many times before. Before he knew he could realize it, the smells of his cheap meal began to morph into smells of breakfast. Sounds of panic. Pools of blood around his feet. 

Will’s ears rang as he could nearly feel his muscles still tense from shooting Garret. In Will’s dissociative mind, he could feel Abigail’s blood pulsing from her neck and into his hand. While Will was still physically standing over the stove, he was grasping at Abigail’s bleeding neck mentally. Her panicked eyes stared into the farthest reaches of Will’s soul and he felt helpless.

He could see the twisted grin still plaguing Garret Jacob Hobbs’ face from the corner of his eyes. The room no longer smelled of warm and cheery breakfast; no, it smelled of blood and evil. The food had grown cold and the room was twinged with a faint smell of scorched food. Yet these factors didn’t matter to Will: all he cared about was saving Abigail as his hands clung to her gushing throat.

It was incredulously evident that Will was violently dissociating, seeing as Will had paid no attention to the loud barking of the dogs, the burning of the food, or the concerned calls of Hannibal. 

Hannibal, in fact, did come home a few minutes late for the first time in a while. As soon as he had turned the key into their door, he could smell burnt food. The smell was nearly overwhelming, even by Hannibal’s standards. He stood for a long moment as the door swung open and the dogs began to ambush him. Calm as ever, Hannibal propped his briefcase against the wall of the small entryway and knelt down to give Winston and his comrades head pats to pacify them. 

“Will?” He called out as he slowly rose from his knees and to his feet once again. His voice was empty of intention yet twinged will a dull hint of concern. It didn’t take Hannibal long to discern where the burning was coming from, seeing as the smoke alarms had begun to blare. This, of course, upset the dogs. Hannibal quietly hushed them and began to pick up his pace towards the kitchen. To his knowledge, Will was the only one home. Yet the thought of Will even attempting to cook hadn’t even crossed his mind. Therefore, Hannibal instinctively grabbed a quartz bust of Achilles from a nearby stand and began to take long and purposeful steps towards the kitchen.

But the only thing that Hannibal Lecter saw was Will. Only Will, who stood over the stovetop with a shaky grip on the pan. Hannibal had discerned that Will must have managed to tilt the pan slightly early in his dissociative episode, as faint sizzling could be heard as morsels of food burned directly on the stovetop. The meal was already scorched beyond belief. 

“Will? Will? Can you hear me, Will?” Hannibal asked although he had already known the answer before he had even opened his mouth. He sat the bust down on the kitchen counter and began towards Will.

Meanwhile, Will struggled immensely. He continued to believe that he was staring into the eyes of Abigail Hobbs. There were echoes of… alarms? But these alarms weren’t the ordinary police alarms. Will began to enter a confused state. What was real had mingled with what hadn’t; a feeling all too ordinary for Will.

“Will?” The voice sounded distorted, almost as if it had left the lips of a drowning man. Mentally, Will was still knelt known beside Abigail with his hand wrapped around her neck. Yet nobody had come to take over for him. 

“See? See. See. See. See.” Will could feel tears streaming down his face as he looked into the eyes of Garret Jacob Hobbs. 

The tears, however, did not exist only within Will’s mind. Hannibal could see them through Will’s dead, unblinking eyes. Hannibal reached over and turned off the stove: the last thing he wanted was for Will to burn himself. Allowing Will to rest against it, Hannibal brought his hand to Will’s neck. Will’s head had subconsciously leaned into Hannibal’s fingers, a simple action that brought the hint of a smile to Hannibal’s face as he continued to call Will’s name. 

“Will, you are safe.” The voice cut through Will’s mental perception in a similar fashion as it had mere moments before. The muffled voice forced Will’s face to twist at the edges with confusion. His head fell forwards when Hannibal removed his hand.

Hannibal headed towards his freezer and grabbed a pack of ice: rather, the pack of ice. Hannibal had grown accustomed to Will’s frequent dissociations; with this, he had grown to anticipate and prepare for them. He took a few simple strides back to where Will continued to numbly stand and pried his fingers from the handle of the pan. Carefully, Hannibal placed the ice pack in Will’s palm and used his own free hand to steady Will. 

“Will, you’re going to come back in just a moment,” Hannibal said cooly. As he muttered these words, they finally began to pierce Will’s mental space. Hannibal’s voice began to grow clearer as Will began to blink in confusion. 

As was expected, Will allowed the ice pack to fall to the floor. Hannibal’s hand drifted to Will’s back while his free hand gripped him by the waist.

Will looked down at Hannibal’s arms before glancing to first his right and then his left. His eyes landed on the scorched pan before looking desperately at Hannibal. 

“I did that, didn’t I?” Will whispered, despite already knowing the answer. When his question was answered with a nod, Will shoved himself away from Hannibal.

“Will, it’s okay,” Hannibal tried to comfort him, yet he knew that this would not help. He watched as Will ran his hands desperately through his hair while he paced around the kitchen. Will began to move towards the stove once more, fully intending to grab the pan and begin to dispose of the mess he had unintentionally made for himself. Hannibal placed a simple hand on Will’s shoulder, enough to persuade Will to look up at him.

“Will, this isn’t something that you need to shed tears over,” Hannibal began, only to be cut off.

“You’re right, it’s not. But the fact that I can’t even cook a meal without violently dissociating is definitely something I can cry over.” Will muttered in a shaky voice. “I tried to do something nice for you and I can’t even do that.”

The two shared a simple moment of silent eye contact before Hannibal pulled the crying Will close and into a hug. “I believe that you should go rest. I will prepare dinner. Just sit with the dogs.” They shared another infinitely long moment of silence before Will gently shook his head and mumbled something barely audible.

“That isn’t the point,” Will whispered up towards Hannibal. “I wanted to do something good. I think that maybe that’s the part that’s hurting me the most.”

Hannibal trailed one of his hands back up towards Will’s face and held it gently as he had done nearly thousands of times before. “You don’t need to do anything for me. I do not mean to use a cliche, but it truly is the thought that counts. I know where your heart is and that’s all I care about. It means a lot, rest assured. But, for now, I think it’s best if we leave the cooking to me if you’re here alone. Otherwise, all of your meals might become this…” Hannibal laughed for a moment. “Sloppy joe soup.”  
Hannibal’s analogy was enough to make a smile tug at Will’s lips. He nodded in agreement before leaning impossibly closer into Hannibal.

“Besides, I had planned to make some coq au vin this evening. Go relax, Will. I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.” Hannibal smiled his ever-charming grin and planted a simple kiss on Will’s forehead before beginning to clean up the battle-burned pan. 

“Can I at least help?” Will asked as he picked the frozen ice pack from the floor and wiped it against his shirt. “It’s the least a man can do. At least I can say I sort-of made dinner.”

Hannibal grinned at Will with a small nod. He looked so simple when he was in this state. No agenda, no hushed psychoanalyzing. Will preferred this side of Hannibal; that side that so few had seen before him. 

Will Graham knew that he was a lucky man. Will Graham understood that he was cared for when he was with Hannibal. As appetizing as a cheap box of Hamburger Helper sounded to him, he preferred anything as long as it was with Hannibal.


End file.
